"But I can’t wait in line, I’m not wearing pants!” one girl says to the bouncer on North 6th Street on the sidewalk outside Music Hall of Williamsburg. I look over, and she’s not lying— her legs are bare in a tiny miniskirt beneath a black puffer jacket and some chunky platform boots, which appears to be the uniform of this evening. Just as the bouncer opens his mouth to say something I can only imagine will amount to “Your wardrobe choices don’t preclude you from waiting in the line,” someone else does it for him: A faceless voice calls out, “None of us are wearing pants! Back of the line.”